Roddy Doyle - The Guts

— Alright?

She nodded. He put his hand to the side of her head, over her right ear. She tilted her head to meet it, the way she’d always done, since she was a little thing. Her head felt hot, the hair was a bit sticky.

— Want to go home?

She nodded again.

— Come on.

He stood up, and so did she. She looked okay; she was steady enough on the pins. He walked back to the door and Missis Halpin. He spoke before she did.

— I’m bringin’ her home. I’ll come back.

— Alright, she said.

And he saw: she smiled at Mahalia as Mahalia went around her. Mahalia didn’t look at her.

— But could you sign her out at the office, please?

Jimmy was heading for the door at the end of the corridor. He waited for Mahalia. He held out his hand. She took it.

He pointed at the exit door.

— Is this the quickest way out, love?

— Yeah.

He turned as he walked.

— I’ll be back.

He couldn’t fuckin’ believe he’d just said that.

— Where were you?

— The vet, said Aoife.

She was holding the dog.

He was coming down the stairs. Mahalia was in bed. She’d puked again, and said Sorry so many times it had stopped being a word.

— You’re home early, said Aoife.

Something thumped Jimmy.

She looked guilty — caught. Is she doin’ what I’ve been fuckin’ doin’?

— I phoned you, he said.

— I left my phone here.

— I texted you.

— My phone — I told you. What’s wrong?

He told her.

— I don’t believe it.

— I know, he said. — But I saw it. She’s grand now.

Aoife went past him, up the stairs. She was still holding the dog. He followed her.

She was sitting at the side of May’s bed. Jimmy could hear May sobbing, and Aoife whispering.

— It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s fine.

— I’ve to go back, he said.

— What?

— To the school. I’ve to go back.

— Oh, she said. — Why?

— Face the music, I suppose.

He heard Mahalia moan.

— It’s okay, love, he said. — It’s grand. You’ll be fine.

He went out to the landing. He came back.

— What’s wrong with the dog?

— Nothing.

She hadn’t looked at him. She was gazing down at Mahalia.

— Okay, he said. — See yeh later.

— Okay.

The dog was her fuckin’ alibi.

Cop on .

He drove back to the school and found he’d missed his place in the queue. He sat beside a woman who seemed to have been crying — she’d definitely been. She had that blotched thing, and she looked angry and confused. Like her daughter, probably. She wasn’t interested in talking. There was a man to his right. He’d arrived just after Jimmy. He’d smiled, raised his eyes to heaven, shrugged, but didn’t seem to speak any English. He was standing. They’d run out of chairs. The secretary, across the way, kept looking out of her hatch. She might have been the woman who’d phoned him earlier; she had the head to match the voice.

There were five people ahead of him.

He got his phone out.

He texted Des. Cant make it. Srry. Truble wth kids sch . He deleted the last bit, and sent it. He texted Aoife. How is she? x

The door opened. A woman came out, with one of the orange girls. They left without glancing at anyone. They’d both been crying. Jesus. He thought he recognised the ma. Someone he’d known years ago, when they were kids — teenagers. He wasn’t sure. The phone shook in his hand. It was Aoife. Fine. Asleep. Messi ate my knickers. X

The phone hopped again. Des. No prob. Tues? He’d pay Des for the missed lesson. Cant. Chemo. Wed?

He could get through a few bars of ‘Abide With Me’, and he thought it sounded okay, sometimes, when he didn’t panic and rush. He was thinking he’d record himself, for when they carried the coffin. That would be dramatic — heartbreaking — the man himself playing at his own funeral. Such a fuckin’ loss. Who’s tha’ playin’? It’s Jimmy himself. He was shite, wasn’t he?

His life was an awful fuckin’ mess.

Des again. Ok .

Even texting — it was a nightmare. He’d send the wrong message to the wrong person. The wrong woman. A good name for a film. Starring Jimmy Rabbitte. Fuckin’ eejit. He’d fuck up, fire off the wrong text, call her the wrong name.

It was fuckin’ great.

— Mister Rabbitte?

— Wha’?

It was your woman, the Principal. He was next — he hadn’t noticed.

— Sorry, he said. — I was —

He held up the phone.

— Work.

— I know.

He followed her into the office.

— When the word expulsion was mentioned —

— Oh Christ no. Expulsion?

— Yep.

— Oh God — Jimmy —! They can’t —

— Hold on, he said. — It’s not too bad. She was just tellin’ me they could . That the offence justified it.

— That’s ridiculous.

— I know, yeah. But I didn’t argue with her. I heard someone doin’ that — before me, like. It didn’t last long. Anyway, look, they’re not goin’ to expel ten girls all at once. It’d be a national scandal. The press would jump on it. Joe Duffy. It’d take their minds off Anglo an’ the fuckin’ Household Charge —

— Jimmy, tell me.

— I let her have her say. Expulsion, suspension, all the options and procedures. And then I told her I had cancer.

— You —?

— So it’s grand. She’s not bein’ expelled.

— Because you told Fionnuala Halpin you had cancer?

— No, he said. — But I told her before she said what they’d decided to do. Just to be on the safe side.

The dog was beside him, at his leg. He picked him up and parked him.

— Suspended, he said. — For a week.

— That’s not too bad.

— Includin’ today.

— We’ll ground her.

— Yep.

— Take her phone.

— No pocket money.

— Yes.

— I’m to phone her tomorrow, said Jimmy. — To let her know what we’re doin’ from our end.

— And a letter of apology, said Aoife.

— Good idea. An’ I’ll send her an mp3 of ‘Erectile Dysfunction’ as well.

Aoife smiled.

— Maybe this is —.

— What?

— To do with you.

— Wha’?

— Mahalia, said Aoife. — She’s never as much as got a negative remark in a Christmas report. Ever. And now — this.

— Because of me?

— Don’t dismiss it, she said.

— I’m not, said Jimmy. — But no — fuck it. There were ten o’ them. I only recognised one. Shannon I think her name is. She’s been in the house. But, like — they didn’t all get pissed because they’re worried about me.

— Forget the others —

— You should’ve seen them, by the way. In the sickbay. Jesus, it was chillin’.

— Just think about it.

— Okay.

The dog’s front paws were on his chest.

— Vodka, he said.

— They drank?

— She had — your woman, Nuala —

— Fionnuala.

— She had the empty bottle on her desk. Exhibit A.

— They didn’t drink it neat?

— No, said Jimmy. — That was Exhibit B. A Coke bottle, one o’ the two-litre jobs. Oh, and that’s another thing.

— What?

— She wants to know who brought the bottle into school.

— That’s fair enough.

— I told her we don’t have much drink in the house.

— I could do with one.

— We’ll have to interrogate May.

— Tomorrow.

— Could they all have got hammered on one bottle of vodka?

— Well, it wouldn’t be easy. But there’s the context. Where were they?

— Behind the gym.

— In the right circumstances ten girls together could probably get drunk without actually drinking anything at all. They’re amazing things really, teenage girls.